Cries in the Night: The Scream
Tempest Spire: Outer Ring As intimidating yet beautiful as its name suggests, Tempest Spire tests the eye's strength with a strenuous squint into the lofty heavens with its height. The interior of the base is fairly vast itself and divided into two pillar-partitioned chambers - an inner and outer. The stone of walls and floor is radiantly pure, a snowy white marble inset with slender, gold veins which, if studied closely, seem to all creep towards the center of the Inner Ring. Upon entry into the Spire, one has four choices: to turn and go hence from which they came, turn to left and pace the dark pillar-lined corridors, turn right and mount the black marble staircase which spirals up into the abyss, or step forward into the illusory shining light of the inner ring. The latter option will bear you through four black marble pillars, two on either side, and into the mist-veiled glory of the Inner Ring. The Outer Ring is lit by gold sconces on the wall, each designed to look like human hands. Eventually, this ring leads to the opposite side of the entrance (north) where a small alcove has been dug into the marble. In this alcove, measuring roughtly five feet in height, a white marble statue of a dragon stands, surrounded by stout candles in obsidian sconces. ---- Into the spire, to the startled surprise of the various guards, comes one injured, oversized bard at a dead run. "It has someone!" he calls. "The black dragon, it has someone!" Hot on the heels of the bard is one uninjured young Freelander male. "And you have a broken arm, and it's a dragon," he calls out. "You aren't going after that thing, whatever your foolishness quota is!" The grating screeches from outdoors echo back inside the tower itself, born not from a drake, but the smaller throat of a huddled Tshepsi, coiled upon the lower steps of the tower. Her arms are entwined around her midsection, shoulders trembling with such force that it threatens to topple her from her scaly perch. Despite the chill of the tower's base, sweat has pasted tendrils of mane to her forehead and chin, her eyes widely alert and mouth agape. Slowly, her long fingers reach for her throat and nails nick with precision at the flesh. "We know...." Taran draws up in a sharp halt at this. "Ah...lady?" he asks. "Why do you strangle yourself?" Sandrim gapes at Tshepsi for a moment, before closing his jaws with an audible click. "More sssad sssongsss..." Tshepsi mourns and bit by bit, her tail melts away from the marble stairs and 'puddles' into another coil closer to the men on the floor while her hands release her own throat and reach instead for Taran's shoulder. "Where doesss it go?" She hisses ferverently, a wild glow burning brightly in her eyes. "A bad child of the ssssky..." "Northeast," says the bard. "The opposite of its path last night. And it was carrying someone - I mean a human someone - in its claws. I know I cannot do anything. An army could not do anything. But - to be taken by a dragon...and this one is bad?" Sandrim looks aside at Taran. "It was carrying a screaming woman away," he says with a tone of wry sarcasm, before shaking his head. "It seems bad to me, at least." "The ssscream wasss not of pleasssure..." Tshepsi hisses thinly in agreement with Sandrim. "But where doesss it take her from...we musssst go there..." Rolling her eyes back into her head, Tshepsi reels backwards and allows her tail to guide her in swift climb up the staircase while her hands fold over her ears. "Fffffind me...." Taran turns to Sandrim. "It is at least *possible* that the dragon was provoked," he points out. "I try not to assign roles so quickly." To Tshepsi, he says, "From the southwest. It flew from the southwest. But Fastheld is southeast of here?" Sandrim shakes his head to himself at the reprimand, then says, "You would know. It could have just been someone out wandering the Wildlands. There are some who do that, right?" "Sssouthwessst. Who liesss sssouthwessst..." Tshepsi taunts, then vanishes upwards into the darkness. The slithering of scales can still be heard as she ascends the tower, leaving the men to do as they would. The guards, however, have regained their senses and step forward to bar the base of the staircase. "You don't think it came from Crown's Refuge, then?" Asks one of Taran. Taran attempts to ascend the Spiral Staircase, but is blocked from doing so by two members of the Blood Guard. "The dragon was flying low enough for us to know it was carrying a woman," Taran replies gravely. "I concede it's possible...but I do not know how one could know for certain." Sandrim nods over to Taran, before turning back. "It flew that way last night as well, didn't it? Hiding a dragon in the city doesn't seem very likely." He frowns. "It could have picked someone up as it flew back though, maybe." "From Verdigrisss to Drakessspine..." whispers the eerie sing-song taunt of the Archmage as she descends the tower again with equal speed, clutching in her hands a small satchel. "How many homesss of men tonight are wittthout tttheir loved onesss...tttherein liesss an anssswer." Taran nods. "Northeast to southwest...that dragon knew who it wanted, perhaps, and went to retrieve...her?" The last is a guess, but not entirely uncertain. "And...homes, plural?" The bard seems somewhat at a loss now. Sandrim 's expression darkens slightly as he frowns at Tshepsi. "How much do you know about this thing, if any?" he asks. "You sound like you might." "Many thingsss disssappear in the wildlandsss..." Tshepsi croons cryptically, stroking her satchel as though it were her pet. "Jussst asss many are born, equally wittthout explanation..." She was a living example of that, if nothing else. "There are waysss to ssseek. Waysss to follow. Waysss to follow while ssstanding ssstill." Crooking a finger beneath Taran's chin, she glides between and past them both, commanding the doors open. Taran moves to follow, looking somewhat bemused. "...Far be it from me to argue with a creature of your power, mistress. I simply do not understand." Sandrim looks around uncertainly, before shaking his head and stepping after Taran and Tshepsi. "I'll just settle for this," he says. "Where are we going?" ---- Tempest Corona Of substantial size and dominance within the freehold of Crown's Refuge are the expansive gardens known as the Tempest Corona. Encircled around the base of the towering Tempest Spire, Tempest Corona exists is three circular walkways - one around the base of Tempest Spire, one around the edge of the corona, and one in the middle - that interlock at regular intervals amidst gardens of lush vegetation, delicate statues and fountains, and proud trees and ferns. Awash in an ocean of jade and viridian hues, the footpaths that weave around the drape of nature's finest have apparently been created from a smooth obsidian rock that glistens a shade of dark purple when wet. This black stone serves to contrast with the otherwise pristine white of the tower that looms above, both of which equally complementing the varied greens of the gardens that encompass the whole area. The hiss and burble of fresh water from artificial streams, channels, and fountains alike provide a perpetually peaceful backdrop to the more natural ambiance of whispering leaves and rustling bushes. Patrolmen and Guards attached to the Blood Guard of Crown's Refuge stand at key points around the gardens - Human and Syladris alike - in half-plate of a polished dark-scarlet hue; an elegant tower-shield in one hand, an iron short sword in the other. Centered at the heart of Crown's Refuge, the Tempest Corona links to all four of the artery pathways that run through the freehold to the north, east, south, and west. The archway that leads into Tempest Spire itself faces south towards Fastheld, flanked by two Blood Guards at all times. Regardless of the presence of the Crown's Refuge defense guard, Tempest Corona harbors a sense of peace matched only by that of the Snowfall Basin in the northwest. ---- It is a mildly warm night. The air is stagnant, not stirring with the slightest breeze. Puffy white clouds fill most of the sky. The following of the six moons are visible in the sky: Stormwatcher (green/waning), Torch II (gray/waning). "Ssstormwatcher, what do you watch..." Tshepsi asks of the green moon as they file out onto the obsidian pathway. "The windsss are frightened. They do not move." Taran looks toward the northeast as he follows Tshepsi out. "...I do not know how to track them," he admits, as to himself. Sandrim holds up a finger as he walks along, testing the air. "I'd be lost, as well," he states, then looks over to Taran. "I'll be useless here. I should go to the inn, maybe practice. Don't go and get yourselves hurt." "Firssst..." Meandering half a tail-length off the path and into the grass, Tshepsi lifts her hand for silence. "We choossse." And with that utterly unhelpful remark, the satchel she holds is dumped unceremoniously upside down and litters its contents over the grass. Said contents include a pair of snail shells, a sprig of fern, a small lock of hair (not her color), and a seed. Like a child suddenly engaged in a puzzle, she crouches low, encircling herself and budding creation with her tail, then begins to finger each item thoughtfully and shuffle their positions. Sandrim walks off, looking worriedly over his shoulder as he goes. Taran just leans on his staff, watching the archmage with curious interest - but without comment. Tshepsi's motions become more fevered, seed flipping places with the fern then back again, hair shifting nearer and farther from the snail shells (which remain side-by-side throughout all manuevers). At last, she has arranged them in the formation she sees fit and draws a circle around it with a claw, raking away the thin line of grass to mark boundaries. "Dragonssspine..." She points, nudging the snail shells gently. Slowly, she trails her finger downwards to the seed. "Crownsss Refuge..." and further down with rightward angle - the fern sprig. "Verdigrisss..." Taran crouches down, studying the formation. "There...is a tower, in the Verdigris," he says slowly, uncertain if that is relevant. Tshepsi plucks a piece of grass and weaves it between leaves of the fern. "A tower." Her fingernail traces a wavering line from the seed to the left and 'south', towards the lock of hair, "Jadesssnake", and comes to rest over said lock. "Fassstheld..." The name is said with a strange sort of reverence that one holds for the unknown. She strokes the hair once between her fingers and lifts her eyes to look pleadingly to Taran. "A tower, maybe. But if it came from sssouth...maybe the your children of Fassstheld have anssswersss..." Taran sighs. "You wish me to return to the Empire, and ask?" he asks quietly. "One woman in so vast a territory..." he blows out a breath. "It will do no harm to ask." "I cannot go..." Tshepsi whimpers, looking crestfallen to the lock of hair. Whose head it had come from and if they'd noticed it missing was anybody's guess. "Ssso you mussst. Asssk. It isss not sssafe to venture acrosss the dividing landsss by night. But the Aria. The aria can ssshow you the way..." Taran nods, rising. "Is there any message you wish me to carry, while I am going that way?" he asks. "Only ttthat ttthe Lady Tssshepsi sssends concern, and desssires the sssame in turn." Opening the flap in her satchel, Tshepsi plucks the items up one by one from the ground and lays them carefully inside. Taran nods, and settles his staff in his hand. "No time like the present then, Lady," he says quietly. "The dragon's captive would not wish me to wait, I think." He turns, to head back into the spire. "Sssad songgsss..." Tshepsi sighs and collapses into the bed of grass, the satchel curled to her chest between loving hands. "Ssso sssad." Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs